“Of course.”
She moved to go, but he reached out and caught her hand. Touching her thrilled him every time, and he clung to her briefly before he said, “Celia, if I were to approach your brother-in-law and ask for permission to court you, would you…would you want that?”
She stared up at him, a small smile on her face, her eyes wide. “Yes, Aiden, I would very much want that,” she said, and her voice trembled, revealing how happy she was at that question. The happiness, the anticipation, cut him to his very core.
But he had no choice.
“Good night, Celia,” he said.
“Good night.”
He released her hand at last and watched her reenter the house. When she was gone he finally breathed again. Now it was done. He had set the wheels in motion for the next phase of his investigation. And for her heartbreak, no matter how successfully this case ended.
And even though he hated himself for doing it, he also thrilled at the idea that Celia wanted him. And even if he hadn’t earned her, he would have her for a little while.
That would have to be enough.
CHAPTER NINE
Clairemont feigned surprise when he found Grayson Danford at his club two days later, even though he had planned for this accidental encounter. He crossed the room, a smile on his face, and Danford pushed to his feet from the chair he was reading in and returned the expression.
“Your Grace,” he said, extending a hand as Clairemont reached him. “How nice to see you.”
Clairemont shook with him and nodded. “Indeed. I have been so far out of Society for so long, I didn’t realize we shared a membership at Hopper’s.”
“Yes,” Danford said, motioning to the chair beside his and folding his paper away. “Although White’s and the like are necessary evils, I prefer it here. It’s a bit less hectic. Certainly less political.”
Clairemont looked around at the quiet room. Men were in the corners smoking and discussing politics and other topics. Some read in the adjoining rooms. It actually wasn’t bad—certainly there was none of the peacocking he’d expected when he heard the word “club”.
“It is. A bit more my speed, I admit,” he said. “But I’m happy to see you, as I had hoped we could continue our discussion from the other night at your home.”
Now Danford’s welcoming smile fell a fraction and was replaced by wariness. “Yes, I think I knowexactlywhat it is you wish to discuss. And here we can at last broach the topic freely.”
The fine hairs on the back of Clairemont’s neck began to rise. Was this it? Would Danford finally talk to him about whatever nefarious plots he and the real Duke of Clairemont had hatched? Would he be able to break his case before he was forced to damage Celia any more than necessary?
“What topic is that?” he asked, working hard to keep the anticipation from his tone.
Danford arched a brow as if Clairemont should already know the answer to that question. “Celia.”
“Yes,” Clairemont said, his excitement over the case deflating but being replaced by all the emotions that accompanied the topic at hand. He’d written her a letter that day. In fact, he’d written her several letters in the days they’d been apart. God knew why. It wasn’t required and yet he’d found himself doing it. And picturing her face when she read them. “Celia.”
“Rosalinde and I can see there is a connection between you,” Danford continued. “Though I admit I’m surprised to see it so quickly. Not that I can talk. I believe I fell in love with my wife the moment I saw her at an inn.”
Clairemont stiffened.Love. He had never considered that possibility. Did he feel desire for Celia? Most definitely, as two nights staring at his naughty ceiling had proven. Did he like her? He did. But love? That was too big a concept to even consider. Men like him were not free to love. He wasn’t even sure hecouldlove.
“Celia is a most unique woman,” Clairemont said, his voice rougher than he expected. “I won’t deny that she intrigues me.”
“And what exactly do you intend to do about that?” Danford pushed.
Clairemont cleared his throat. “I understand that you are her guardian now that she no longer lives with her grandfather.”
A shadow crossed Danford’s face at the mention of Mr. Fitzgilbert, but he nodded slowly. “I have taken that role, yes.”
“Then I would like to—to ask for your permission to court Celia,” Clairemont choked out.
He didn’t know why this was so difficult. It was merely a move in a game of chess. And yet saying it out loud made it feelreal. Like he could truly look toward some kind of future with Celia.
Which was pure balderdash, of course. It was Clairemont who was offering for Celia, not John Dane. Dane wasn’t fit to clean her slipper.
